


The Great Game

by killjoywhatsername



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Evil Stiles Stilinski, Gen, M/M, Mormor AU, POV Peter Hale, Peter hale - Freeform, Steter - Freeform, stiles stilinski - Freeform, weretiger Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoywhatsername/pseuds/killjoywhatsername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles as Jim Moriarty. Peter as Sebastian ''weretiger'' Moran. </p><p>This could only end badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Game

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing done for Steter Week, but hey I got this posted. 
> 
> Well I saw a lovely post by the steterkink on tumblr that said "sherlock au with stiles as jim moriarty and peter as (weretiger) moran." and I after I had a mini-heart attack because my two OTPs were combined into some perfection. I decided I needed to try to write it and this is the result. 
> 
> (Also I would've totally linked it but I still don't understand half of ao3 so bear with me. But yeah check out that blog because its fantastic and filled with wonderful Steterness)

There were very few things Peter Hale regretted in his life. Not going out with Heather Murphy, crashing his motorcycle senior year, not paying attention to who Derek was dating and giving information to. He could count his regrets on one hand.

As he sat at the bar drinking a beer and taking in his surroundings he started to regret moving back to Beacon Hills. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to move back. Everything was going fine on the road, but he guessed that at some point he wanted to go back to familiar territory. Although very little was still felt familiar. Everything that made it seem the town seem like home burned away a long time ago. The house he grew up in was burnt to ashes, the family he cared about all died in the fire. Only Derek and Cora survived, but they hardly ever talked to him and both of them moved away a long time ago. His niece Laura also survived the fire, but was later killed by some bizarre circumstance.

Which led Peter here. At a local bar called Wolf’s Tavern, drinking a beer that tasted awful, and he couldn’t even get drunk. This was definitely not one of the high points of Peter’s life.

He was contemplating just paying the bill and leaving when he heard a voice come up next to him. “Peter. Peter Hale?”

He had to resist rolling his eyes. Great someone he most likely did not want to see. He turned and looked to find a slender brown-haired man. He wore glasses and plain white button up shirt with slacks. He looked like he just got out of work. Peter did not recognize the man at all and the guy must have noticed this as he added, “I’m Mike Stamford? Remember me?”

Peter searched his memory. He honestly could not place the man. They must have not been close, though Peter was never really close with anyone. Then he remembered. Stamford. They went to high school together. “Of course! From the days of Beacon Hills High.” Peter said, sounding much more cheery about the reunion then he felt.

“Yes! Glad you remembered!” Mike said with a smile. He took the seat next to Peter at the bar. He waved down the bartender and ordered himself a beer.

As much as it pained Peter to do, he took on the civil role and tried to have a pleasant conversation. “What have you been up to these past few years?”

“Working at a law firm. It’s a lot to handle sometimes but the pay is good. Got myself a wife too. Molly Adams? If you remember here. Our three-year anniversary is next month. We’re trying for a little one too, so hopefully there’ll be a little Mike running around soon.” He said and Peter wanted nothing more than to leave the conversation. He was not in the mood to hear about the happy times of Mike Stamford. The other man continued on through, “But enough about me. How about you? Moving back to Beacon Hills?”

Peter shrugged and finished the last of his drink. “Not sure yet. Been traveling a lot for the past few years. I don’t know if I want to settle down yet and that if I do settle down if it will be here.”

“Sounds nice! If you ever need anything let me know. I know some people.” Mike said looking very confident. Peter wanted to laugh. He could not imagine that Mike knew people that were the elite that it called for his superior tone. This was Beacon Hills, no one major lived here anymore.

Peter decided to press the issue a bit. “Who do you know?”

“I can’t really say.”

At this Peter fake pouted and continued to keep pressuring, “What? Will someone get shot if you speak their name?”

There was no immediate reply. Mike seemed to almost go two shades paler. It seemed like he was realizing that he should not have said anything at all. Peter had half a mind to just let it go, but then thought there was no fun in that. Finally Mike said, “Possibly. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Well now I am interested. Can I meet this elusive mystery person?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Mike asked in a defeated tone. Peter merely grinned and remained silent. Mike continued on, “Fine. I only talk to him through other people. I might be able to set up a meeting, but do not get your hopes up. You’ll probably just be put in contact with a proxy person like I do.”

Peter nodded. Well, maybe this trip to the bar and this conversation wasn’t so pointless after all. “What’s his name?”

“Stilinski.”

* * *

 

 

Peter looked at the paper that had the address written on it and then back at the abandoned distillery before him. This would most definitely turn out to be an awful decision, but he needed to satisfy his curiosity and it wasn’t like Peter couldn’t handle himself if a fight broke out.

He walked in the building. Dirt, dust, and broken glass littered the floor. Spots of light shone through the window but for the most part everything was dark. Peter wondered if this elusive Stilinski did this all for dramatic flair. Peter thought the whole thing could not get any more cliché if Stilinski had tried. He looked around and didn’t see anyone but with assistance of his heightened hearing and smell he could knew someone was around.

“Hello?” Peter said loudly, hoping this guy would quit wasting his time and come out. He heard the shuffling of feet and the next thing he knew was that two men dressed in black came running out at him. He was definitely chalking this up as one the poorer decisions of his life.

They attacked from both sides. Peter grabbed the one of his right and flung him several feet away. An audible snap could be heard and Peter was sure that the man broke a bone. Meanwhile the other man was still trying to attacking, choosing to use a knife. He unsuccessfully tried to cut and stab Peter, but the weretiger was too quick. He grabbed the man’s wrist and crushed it painfully. The man cried out in pain and Peter let go. It was then that Peter shifted. His skin was now tinted orange with dark stripes accompanying it. He snarled, his fangs showing and his yellow eyes blazing at both men who now looked terrified.

He didn’t give them a chance to react any further. He pounced and used his claws to slice them open. Grinning as blood splattered on the floor and on his clothes. Peter always enjoyed a kill here and there, especially if it was someone who was stupid enough to attack him. After listening to the last heartbeats and breathes of the men, knowing for sure they were both dead, Peter took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands off.

This may have been a waste of a time but at least he got to let some aggression out.

There was nothing left for him to do. The big, bad Stilinski never showed and it was a failed attempt at ambushing him. Peter shifted back to his human state was and about to leave when a voice called out.

“Good! Very good! I have to say Mr. Hale I am impressed.” A boy appeared, walking out from behind some old shipping crates. He had short brown hair and amber eyes. If Peter had to guess he would say the boy was in his early-to-mid-twenties. He was dressed in plain clothes, jeans, white t-shirt, red hoodie. Nothing out of the ordinary about him besides the slightly crazed look in his eyes.

Peter couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You’re Stilinski?” He looked over the boy once again. There was no way that this kid was the feared man Stamford stalked about. No way. This kid looked like he couldn’t harm a fly, let alone control a massive criminal network. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“It would be if I was still seven years old.” Stilinski said, chuckling. He walked forward, lightly kicking the two bodies that laid on the ground. “I knew you could so some impressive stuff, but this exceeds my expectations, Mr. Hale.”

Peter had to hold back a snarl. He didn’t care if this met this guy’s expectations. He did not do it for him and he not like being strung along like a puppet. If there was something that he truly hated it was not having the upperhand on the situation and he was getting the feeling that he was not the one in control of this situation. “That was nothing. “ He said in a threatening tone that to anyone else would probably have them running for the hills.

However, Stilinski ignored it and continued on, “Tigers like to kill with their teeth. Rip there prey’s throats out. Have you ever done that?” He seemed truly curious, like he was a scientist studying a brand new specimen.

“Would you care for a demonstration?” Peter growled.

Stilinski laughed. Amusement filled his eyes. “Sure. You. Me. A run down motel. Let’s make it happen.” His voice was full of suggestion, it didn’t help that Peter could smell the lust that radiated off the boy’s body.

Peter snorted. This kid couldn’t be serious. Sure, he was attractive, and Peter wouldn’t mind teaching him just who is in control here, but Peter there was a time and a place for everything and it wasn’t now. “You must be kidding.”

“Of course I am. I would never be caught dead in a motel. My standards are much higher than that.” Stilinski said, a smile plastered on his face.

Peter raised an eyebrow and then sighed. This was all amusing at first but now he was just getting tired and irritated. Two things that make for a very unhappy weretiger. ‘’So not that I don’t love being invited to clandestine meetings where people are sent to test me, but why am I here?”

“Smart, sassy, and straight to the point, just how I like them.” He replied in a sing-song voice. “And, well, I’ve been watching you. See, I come up with solutions for whatever problems people come to me with, for a price of course.”

“Sounds like a long-winded way of saying you’re a mob boss. Am I going to find a horse head in my bed if I refuse whatever offer you make?” Peter smirked.

“I always preferred the term consulting criminal myself.” The boy grinned. He shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground for a second before looking back up. “And the horse head thing is so overdone. No, no, no. If you don’t do as I say I’ll make your life a living hell.” He said, his voice void of all emotion that it once had. Even his eyes looked like they went darker. Peter was finally understanding that maybe this kid was as bad as he said he was.

Still, Peter could not help but shake his head. “That’s not much of a threat. I already take residence in the seventh circle of hell.”

Stilinski’s mood changed and he was back to smiling and looking like any other average person. He said, “Oh yes. I know. You’re Peter Hale. You were working on your master’s degree in business administration at Stanford before you became one of three survivors of the fire that killed most of your family. Did a six year long stint as a coma patient before having a miraculous recovery just around the same time your niece was mauled by some unknown animal.” The younger man said with a self-satisfied smirk. A knowing look in his amber-whisky eyes. Peter wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his smug face. How dare this guy come and spout out facts as if he really knew who Peter was and what he was capable of, this punk thought he could intimidate him.

Peter leaned back in his chair and appeared to be keeping a cool head about everything. A smirk of his own forming on his lips as he said, “All of that is public knowledge. Doesn’t prove anything.”

Blue eyes met brown eyes as the two stared at each other and for a second all was silent in the room. Then Stilinski spoke once again, “You killed your niece. Not exactly sure why, but I’m sure you’ll tell me. I do know that violence gets you off, these two,” He nudged one of the dead bodies with his foot, “are proof of that. You were absolutely animalistic while shredding them, and I am not just saying that because you were orange with stripes. You really seemed to be enjoying yourself, it was truly a lovely sight.

“Glad you enjoyed it.” Peter managed to say, trying to seem like he was not fazed by the fact he picked up on the fact that he killed Laura. For the first time in as long as Peter could remember he was at a loss for words. He really hated this guy, he also hated himself for getting himself in this situation, and he really hated that jerk Stamford for pushing him in this direction. Regaining his confidence and coherent thought coming back to him, Peter asked, “So what is this offer?”

“Thought you would never ask!” Stilinski exclaimed clasping both his hands in a theatrical manner. “I need someone as my right-hand man. Part-body guard, part assassin, part whatever else I deem necessary for the role. Nothing a weretiger can’t handle. I don’t like to get my hands dirty and you’re perfect because you can get your paws as bloody as you want and no one will suspect a thing. I pay handsomely and you’ll get satisfy all your bloodthirsty cravings so it’s a win-win.” He smiled and Peter was unsure which one of them was the predator in the situation anymore.

There was a moment of silence that passed between them as if he was really considering the proposal. There was no real choice. Peter really didn’t want to take the job, but he didn’t see any real consequences to it. He did however foresee repercussions to refusing or killing the man. “Fine. Do you have a first name? Or can I just call you asshole?”

“As much as I would love that. My name is Stiles.” The man, Stiles, said. He extended his hand to shake on the deal.

They shook hands and Peter said, “Well, I think this is the start of an awful partnership. ”


End file.
